


A Heart That Never Skips

by goldenteaset



Category: Dance with Devils (Anime)
Genre: Awkwardness, Character Study, Emotional Constipation, Gen, Light Angst, Loyalty, Male Friendship, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Series, Strained Friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: In which Rem and Urie talk past each other repeatedly, yet still work in tandem.





	A Heart That Never Skips

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! The last part of this fic may look familiar to some of you. It comes from a fic I posted a few years ago, decided needed some major retooling, and so deleted it. Now, with a whole new context, it has more of a point! :D 
> 
> Title comes from a translation of Rem's monologue from his CD. Link here: https://chibinagi.wordpress.com/2017/01/22/dance-with-devils-character-monologue-rem-arlond-translation/
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Dance With Devils.

“Please don’t make me socialize.”

Urie sighs dramatically and lets the hand holding the latest ball invitation fall to his side. “Really, Rem, you never cease to amaze me when it comes to acting a hermit. Tell me, did you even consider it for a moment?”

Rem snorts softly and shakes his head, resting his arms on the balcony railing. Beyond the Arlond ancestral home, the Demon World stretches out in a haze of jewel tones; reds, purples, blacks, greens, they paint the trees and rivers in colors too lush for human eyes. It will rain soon, and the world will melt into silver. He can and will watch this beautiful land until he falls asleep, now that his tutoring is over for today. _And then tomorrow, it begins again, as Father ordered._

Of course he didn’t consider such nonsense. As the successor to the Arlond family legacy, loyalty is already assured. The “social sphere” is for those like Urie, who can flit from crowd to crowd with smiles and sweet words. But that is not—and has never been—Rem’s world. His world is a chessboard, with every piece in its proper place, its role already set.

“I’ll leave such duties to you, Urie,” Rem says softly, aware that his right-hand is waiting for a response.

Urie mutters something under his breath before speaking clearly “As you wish.”

\---

At last, Lord Arlond has a use for Rem. He must go to the human world, pretend to be a high school student, and await the Grimoire's awakening.

Rem receives these orders through a letter delivered to his bedchamber, as is Lord Arlond’s want. As hot sunlight filters through the sheer curtains at the balcony window, he runs a clawed thumb over the last sentence: _Once you have assembled your men, you are expected to depart immediately._

It’s well worded but brisk, easy to understand. Excellent marching orders, as expected from Lord Arlond.

Of course, it’s obvious whom Rem needs to choose—for manpower, Mage has proven his strength time and time again, as a fighter in the arena. That little Fallen Angel who's always lurking about has an eye for funds (though nothing else of use). Rem’s “pet” Roen will no doubt tag along, to keep everyone on task.

And most of all, Rem needs someone he trusts far enough to throw at his side. There are few in that position in his world, and fewer still who could resist using such a role to their advantage. Rem pretends to mull it over, but in the end only Urie is the best choice.

Rem slips out of bed and strides over to his writing desk, his clawed feet sinking comfortably in the deep blue rug. The black wood is smooth under his elbow as he leans against it and grabs the nearest sheets of parchment. The process of dipping the raven quill’s point in the bottle of blue ink is almost soothing, due to constant repetition. (While he knows he shouldn’t let such weakness in, he cherishes each sensation. He won’t be returning any time soon.)

He writes well-worded, brisk letters to Mage and Shiki, using all the etiquette that’s been drilled into him, combined with the usual bribes—riches, fame, glory, etc. (For Shiki, lurid creature that he is, Rem tacks on _This arduous task will grant you sensations beyond your wildest imaginings_.) These he stamps with the Arlond seal and sends off without delay, not even waiting for the ink to dry.

But Urie…Urie requires more thought.

Rem sits at his writing desk and does nothing, his mind a blank void. _I know what I need to say, so why am I dithering?_

Urie has no need for riches, glory or fame—he is as beloved as the rose in bloom. Demons flock from worlds away just to be in his presence, and having him feast on your dreams is considered a luxury beyond luxuries. _What could I possibly offer him, let alone reward him with? He’ll see through each pretense, like he always does._

Rem gets through the basics of the mission, struggling to find a balance between stating the obvious and not giving away just how powerful the Grimoire is. While he knows Urie will be charmed by a statement like _As your friend_ , he never writes it. His fingers tense and his heart sinks at the thought of such weakness.

At long last, Rem grits his teeth and forces himself to dredge up something to the point: _Urie, your skills will be useful in the trials to come._

There. It’s settled.

He sends the letter out, the sun rising steadily into the sky, and calls for his servants. He needs to start packing, and quickly, or else risk jeopardizing the mission.

\---

“That was a lovely letter, Rem,” Urie says, as they begin the journey to the Human World.

“Hm.” Mage and Shiki are a ways behind Rem and Urie, but Rem can’t bring himself to respond to Urie’s taunt.

“You almost sounded like your old self,” Urie continues. “It was rather nostalgic.”

Mage catches up and summons his winding stairs that spiral up to the tip of the world Rem knows. Shiki spreads his wings and soars in flight, shedding raven-black feathers with each wing-beat.

“I trust you didn’t bring the letter with you,” Rem finally says, keeping his voice neutral.

Urie’s laughter is a quiet, genuine thing, meant only for Rem’s ears. “Oh, on the contrary, Rem! I’ve locked it away with the rest of my treasures.”

Rem doesn’t respond—it’s time to go, and he rushes up the stairway, the wind at his back. Behind him, he can still hear Urie chuckling at some hidden joke.

\---

Rain begins to fall like distant drums, _tap-tap-tap_. Rem watches the raindrops slide down the glass, some connecting, others traveling alone. He can hear Urie behind him, wandering around restlessly from shelf to shelf.

“Have you written your proposal yet, Rem?”

“Yes, I worked on it between classes.” He clears his throat. “It begins ‘As Student Council President, I will do my best to ensure my fellow students are healthy—mentally and physically’…”

Urie chuckles. “From the goodness of your heart, of course.”

“Saying that would cheapen the proposal. The suggestion of kindness allows the listeners to envision it for themselves.”

“And if someone were to ask you if you cared for your fellow students…”

“I would say yes, as expected of me.”

“But not genuinely.”

“I can’t lie sweetly the way you can.”

“No, you just need to work on your delivery.”

A howling wind makes the windows rattle ominously. The conversation pauses, and the storm’s noise increases.

“Things were getting dull, waiting for the Grimoire,” Urie says, his voice cutting through the drumming rain. “I’m glad we’re doing something interesting.”

“…It must be difficult for you, having to follow me around wherever I go.” The words spill out of Rem’s mouth unintentionally; he grits his teeth.

“I’m touched at your concern.” It’s hard to tell if the words are in jest or not. “That’s not necessary, though. I follow you of my own free will. I don’t need anyone’s orders or permission to watch you rise to power.”

Rem turns and looks at Urie, who’s seated himself in one of the red lounge chairs by a shelf. His arms are folded behind his head, and his body is sprawled out in the picture of relaxation, but the look in his eyes is as calculating as ever. The smile on his face is the most unnerving detail—not sly or cool, but holding a crumb of genuine warmth, an offering to a restless ruler.

Neither blinks. The rain batters the windows like a rampaging horde.

“Don’t treat me like one of your butterflies.”

Urie’s smile shows a hint of teeth, and he blinks slowly like a cat. “Mm, that _would_ cause a scandal.”

“You would go hungry very quickly, yes.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The sight of beautiful young men like us, bound in passionate love…many butterflies drink that sort of thing up.” His words are spoken casually, a rare thing to hear.

“I’ll have to pass. I cannot show weakness, no matter what.”

Urie sighs softly and shakes his head. “That sort of thinking will kill you, you know.”

“By that logic, I should have died ages ago.”

Urie’s reply is too soft to hear.

“What was that?”

Urie chuckles. “Nothing.”

If Rem catches a hint of sadness behind his gold eyes, he doesn’t say it. Instead he turns back to the window and watches the rainfall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
